


Seniko: Subdue your matesprit

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Fancestors, Fantrolls, Highblood episodes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 11:57:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not the first time you've had to take down a berserk highblood, but it is the first time you've actually cared about them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seniko: Subdue your matesprit

God, you wish you didn't have to. This isn't your job, or it shouldn't be. Wrong quadrant. And yet, you always do it. And hell, you don't even complain. It's not that it doesn't bother you (Oh, does it ever), but moreso that you don't trust anyone else with her. She's a low-tier seadweller, mad as hell and rabid. You imagine in this sort of area she could easily pick a fight with a group of subjugs and wind up in a mural for her trouble. Besides that, she's known for her mellow, kind mannerisms. Her record is spotless, immaculate, the exact opposite of yours. Having an episode in the public eye would tarnish this, and you aren't having that. 

And so you've learned to read her. You've learned to pick up on those subtle ticks and signs that she's got an incident on the way, so you can be there to keep her grounded. You remember the first time you had to do it, completely on accident by timing. One minute you'd been drinking coffee with her, just barely noting the way she'd had this odd look in her eye, and the next you'd been fighting her off, just barely managing to get her on her thorax so you could cuff her down and keep your claws at her gills. That'd been hard. You're no idiot; you face off against highbloods all the time and you know what you're dealing with, but something about her delicate demeanour makes you forget how strong she really is. 

But you'd managed to get through it without putting so much as a scratch on her, just like you're managing now. Well, sort of. You had to give her a small shock (you'd made sure not to leave any lasting damage) earlier to keep her from struggling too hard, and at this point she's mostly just hissing and squirming under you, spitting curses that still sting even though you know she doesn't mean them; threats that would earn a bullet if it was anyone but her. She tells you that when she gets out from under you she's going to rip you apart and wear your blood like warpaint. She tells you she's going to flay you slowly and watch you bleed out. You tell her that's nice, angelfish, and turn the page in the book you'd picked up. It's boring as fuck-- you've never been one for fiction-- but it's a distraction.

It passes the time until her screeching goes hoarse and eventually dies out, until her breathing goes deep and even, and until you finally manage to convince yourself she isn't faking and relax a bit. Not enough to actually sleep yourself, just enough that you don't spark like a live-wire every time you feel her twitch. The time creeps by worse than a slimebeast, but you keep yourself occupied, for the most part. You read your book and take apart your strifekind. When the hint of light finally vanishes from the library windows, indicating nighttime, you don't think you've ever been more eager. You stand up, stretch a bit, and pop your vertebrae a bit before you fish a key out of your pocket and kneel down, unlocking your girl's cuffs with a smooth click. You reach over and gently pap at her face, speaking in a mild tone.

"Hey, Angelfish. Wakey wakey eggs and rectangular protein strips,"

She groans, and you lift her shoulders and try to prop her up against the desk.

"C'mon, babe. Up you get," you snap your fingers in front of her face, until you see a pair of sharp violet eyes coming into dizzy-focus, then going sharp with sudden panic. She looks confused and terrified, she always does, and you feel a bit bad about it. She mumbles something you vaguely recognise as 'shark', followed by a stream of apologies. You give her your warmest smile, cupping her cheek with your palm.

"Hey, hey. Come on, babe, you're fine, it's alright," you say, and when she jumps into your arms, you can't help but purr.

"Alright, alright. Let it all out. I ain't going nowhere, Angelfish."


End file.
